


The Motel Incident

by florahart



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Deaf Clint, M/M, Misunderstanding, New Relationship, embarrassing mishap, not AoS compliant, unspecified timeline though so it could be
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-18
Updated: 2014-08-18
Packaged: 2018-02-13 16:42:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2157822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/florahart/pseuds/florahart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Look, there are things they could have done to prevent this.  It was just, there were circumstances, okay?</p><p>Or, Clint and Phil are in a motel, and something unexpected happens.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Motel Incident

In retrospect, there are probably a lot of ways they could have avoided the scenario currently playing out.

Well, no, there _are_ a lot of ways, no probably about it, but in their defense, it's been an unusually unusual day. Night. Period of thirty-sevenish hours, so definitely not week, but work with them, here.

Usually, when they find themselves a mid-range motel—no fleabag, but nothing fancy, either—Phil turns the deadbolt and then Clint comes back by and does the flippy thing that has gradually replaced the chain in motel rooms, because psshh, deadbolt, like that would stop anyone.

Usually, they clutter the path before the door and the window, just in case (chair, table, desk, that weird little nylon-belt luggage stool thing), although since certainly one of them will face the door and the other the window, it's not like anyone would get _in_ , but they've had reasons to consider contingencies.

Usually, even when they're pretty wiped, they nudge each other half-awake in shifts every hour or so, and even though this isn't _the_ most restful thing in the world, they've had a shit ton of practice at getting enough out of it to do recon in the morning and then turn back in for a better couple of hours before they go sleep on the plane on the way home. 

Usually, they are not less than 48 hours out from having finally gotten around to declaring their mutual intense feelings toward each other. For a value of 'declaring' that equates to some stammered but deeply-felt words sort of related to positive emotion, some blushing expressions of relief that the situation is not unrequited, and some extreme falling into bed to work off some of their decade of need.

Usually, they did not just come from an explosion that blew Clint's right hearing aid and knocked the left one on the ground just where the heavy door was falling, that also left Phil's ears ringing hard, and that knocked them both on their asses just long enough to glance at each other as they ran apart for a quickie signed-and-signaled check-in ( _deaf, okay/else?, fine/you?, fine/bell rung, plan gamma 2?, roger, ILY_ ) whereupon they each got shot at, stabbed at, sliced open and/or pushed headfirst into a disgusting grimy pool at least three times. That is, each experienced at least three of the four at least once. Ish. They kind of lost count.

Okay, the first bit of that past paragraph is bullshit; this is at least the fourth (fifth? There's a difference of opinion on the matter) time for that scenario, minus the love-you sign (but with the rest; Phil is shit at lip-reading and Clint's had ASL for years), but this is the first time _with_ that part, and apparently that's relevant to the situation.

So anyway, there are things they could have done.

Plus, apparently there are certain ASL words they've never had cause to learn or use, and after a careful examination of each other in a gloriously hot shower (this right here is why they just don't do stopping at shitty motels if there's a choice at all. Mid-range places have good hot water, and a lot of it) and a gentle but thorough bandaging, groping, and kissing extravaganza, all they did was curl together and go to sleep. No flipping, cluttering, nudging, or recon at all.

Which probably says a thing or two about just how much of that decade of need is still to be worked off, right?

So they woke up, and Clint was still at the 10% right ear, 30% left that's all he has unassisted, but it's okay (I mean, it's always okay, but it's extra okay this time) because Phil felt himself speaking too loudly anyway and was wondering if one of his eardrums was actually burst rather than just swollen or whatever it is eardrums are in this case, and so they just kinda...stayed. Quietly because when Clint can't hear he just doesn't, by habit, speak, and Phil follows suit because it makes sense not to shout the house down rather than just wait it out.

Unsurprisingly, naked, in bed, in love, and still in that eager new phase (shut up, it's okay to be eager and new at this shit in one's forties) led somewhere else entirely, which is how it came to pass, after a little while, that Clint was on his back, knees wide, hands gripping his shins as Phil tongued him open and then leaned up over him and slid home, slow and firm and perfect.

...And how neither of them heard the door.

It's okay, swear, no one got hurt. So far. Except there might need to be some paperwork, but probably no one should make Phil do it because he already feels bad enough. Like, right now the only thing keeping him from actually dying of embarrassment is that five minutes ago all the blood in his body was engaged in other important work mostly involving his cock, and it hasn't gotten organized to blush yet, much less explode his face with humiliation.

So, what happened since then?

Seriously, the maids should be a little more circumspect. She says she knocked, but Phil didn't hear it, or didn't understand the muffled thump. He certainly didn't hear her announce herself. All he got was the hair on the back of his neck standing up and Clint freezing in place, eyes wide.

And of course, they had signs, but those unneeded words! Maid? Housekeeping? Phil was making _what is it_ faces with his eyes and Clint was trying to come up with a word and what he got was “cleanup person”.

And Phil wildly misinterpreted what that might mean.

Which is how he found himself sprinting down the hall bare-ass naked after a frightened woman who, once Clint caught up with him to get a look at her, was saying/yelling something in apparently Spanish (maybe Italian, but given they were in northern California, good money said the former). 

Hey, it wasn't his fault the uniform didn't tip him off. Sometimes bad people coming after SHIELD agents dress in various blue-collar (read: ignorable) uniforms. Hell, sometimes SHIELD agents coming for bad guys do, too. Although, the running was kind of a clue; usually hit men are more than happy to off guys while they're distracted with fucking. But again, this can be forgiven because blood, cock, brain, you see the problem.

But the actually shitty part, and how we come to the unfortunate scenario before us was, this was Phil Coulson, Agent of SHIELD, and once he caught her, the only non-cover-compromising choice was to hustle her back to their room, both of them still stripped to nothing but a fairly unfortunate amount of lube dripping uncomfortably, and explain to her, possibly in her second language, without letting her scream or escape, what had happened, without benefit of hearing. 

Which took both of them, which meant no breaks to get dressed.

And that's why Phil and Clint are nakedly menacing a terrified woman into submission in a California motel room at ten on a Tuesday morning in October.

Phil isn't sure he's ever going to recover.

Until he looks at Clint, who's been the main enforcer while Phil tried to explain at an appropriate volume, and who is now winking at the maid (who has, thankfully, calmed down) and jerking his head toward Phil, giving him a heated look. She looks at Phil as well (oh and _there's_ the blush response), and then back at Clint, and grins. She says something, and Clint roughly translates for Phil with his hands. _She says oh, she didn't see our do-not-disturb sign. She'll make sure it didn't fall on the floor._

And with that, Clint steps away from her and sets a hand on Phil's arm, calm and unconcerned, and sure enough, the maid (did you get her name? Phil frowns and asks quickly. _G-l-o-r-i-a_ , Clint spells back) carefully takes a hangtag from the cart still in the hall and places it on the door handle. She taps the flippy thing and looks at them again, then leaves them to themselves.

Clint goes and secures both locks, then turns back. _She also says you're adorable._

Phil raises his eyebrows.

_So protective and fierce. I think she approves._

Phil literally facepalms, but when he looks up, Clint's right there pulling him close, adding _I approve, too_ before kissing him.

And apparently he'll recover after all, because just like that, his eagerness button has been reset and jammed in the full throttle position. Clint seems to be in the same boat, pulling him back toward the bed, but Phil holds up a finger, just for a minute, and goes to clutter the doorway and under the window. Just in case.

Hey, it was a good habit for a reason, and one they're unlikely to forget again.

Probably.

Although, Phil has to admit, Clint is really fucking distracting, so anything is possible.

**Author's Note:**

> This fic brought to you by staying in a motel last weekend with my family and having the maid knock-kno-ENTER IMMEDIATELY. We were like, UM HI WOW. Naturally, I started thinking of all the ways that could have been totally obnoxious. And thus was this born. :)


End file.
